“Lady Danbury,” Elizabeth said with the utmost sincerity, “even the devil wouldn’t dare to rob you blind.”
Lady D thumped her cane by way of applause and laughed. “Well said, my girl. So nice to see a young one with a brain in the head. My own children—Well, bah, I’m not going to get into that now except to tell you that my son once got his head caught between the bars of the fence ’round Windsor Castle.”
Elizabeth clapped her hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, go ahead and giggle,” Lady Danbury sighed. “I’ve found that the only way to avoid parental frustration is to view him as a source of amusement.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said carefully, “that does seem a wise course of action.…”
“You’d make a fine diplomat, Lizzie Hotchkiss,” Lady Danbury chortled. “Where’s my baby?”
Elizabeth didn’t even bat an eyelash. Lady D’s abrupt changes of subject were legendary. “Your cat,” she emphasized, “has been sleeping on the ottoman for the last hour,” she said, pointing across the room.
Malcolm lifted his furry head, tried to focus his slightly crossed blue eyes, decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and settled back down.
“Malcolm
,” Lady Danbury cooed, “come to Mama.”
Malcolm ignored her.
“I have a treat for you.”
The cat yawned, recognized Lady D as his primary source of food, and hopped down.
“Lady Danbury,” Elizabeth scolded, “you know that cat is too fat.”
“Nonsense.”
Elizabeth shook her head. Malcolm weighed at least a stone, although a good portion of that was fur. She spent the better part of every evening after she returned home defurring her clothing.
Which was really quite remarkable, since the snobby beast hadn’t deigned to let her hold him in five years.
“Good kitty,” Lady D said, holding out her arms.
“Stupid cat,” Elizabeth muttered as the ecru-colored feline stopped, stared at her, then went on his way.
“You’re such a sweet thing.” Lady D rubbed her hand against his furry belly. “Such a sweet thing.”
The cat stretched out on Lady Danbury’s lap, lying on his back with his paws hanging over his head.
“That isn’t a cat,” Elizabeth said. “It’s a poor excuse for a rug.”
Lady D raised a brow. “I know you don’t mean that, Lizzie Hotchkiss.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Nonsense. You love Malcolm.”
“Like I love Attila the Hun.”
“Well, Malcolm loves you.”
The cat lifted his head, and Elizabeth would swear he stuck his tongue out at her.
Elizabeth stood, letting out an indignant squeak. “That cat is a menace. I’m going to the library.”
“Good idea. Go find me a new book.”